


Ineffable Love

by JoanOfStars



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, past trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 18:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20050219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoanOfStars/pseuds/JoanOfStars
Summary: I'm fully accepting the fact that I'm going to have a whole bunch of hurt/comfort ideas for this show, so they're all going in this neat little file. If you have any requests, leave them below, but I make no promises that I'll actually write them. Ignore the terrible title.Chapter 1:Crowley gets drunk one night, and the reader is forced to relive unwanted memories.





	Ineffable Love

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by SydAce's Crowley/Reader story titled "My Star", but believe me, it's nothing like that story. This is much darker, in which Crowley's drunkenness triggers some of the reader's childhood trauma. So TW for implied abuse and alcoholism

It was Mr. Fell who called you, not Anthony. Apparently, they had fought. Just a little. Just enough to upset Anthony to the point of getting himself drunk, which he only did on special occasions.

When you picked up the phone and Mr. Fell told you- _(My sincerest apologies, (Y/n), but I’m afraid Crowley- er, Anthony is a bit drunk, and he won’t listen to me right now, but I’m worried about him. Could you possibly go pick him up? Convince him to sober up if you can? Though I understand if he refuses. That would not be your fault.)_ Your stomach dropped. You’d done your best to avoid being around drunk people for as long as you could remember. You loved your family dearly, but none of them could hold their liquor very well, and everyone at family functions was volatile and unpredictable, which left you with… scars. Mental and physical. 

Nonetheless, you weren’t about to let Anthony, the unending idiot that he was, flounder in some dive bar on the outskirts of London, so you picked him up. 

“Angel? You know ‘im? He’s a bastard. Flash bastard.” Currently, he was draped over your passenger seat while you drove with a white-knuckle grip.

“Yep.” You said tightly. 

“Why the _fuck_ did he send you to pick me up? Does ‘e think I can’t handle myself?” Somehow, Anthony slipped into a Scottish accent when he was drunk, and if you’d been less tense, you’d try to figure out how that could have happened. Unfortunately, when you heard him swear, your hands started to shake. Or, they would have, anyway, if you weren’t clutching the steering wheel so tightly.

“I don’t know, Anthony.” Your voice broke. 

“Eh.” Was all he replied with, and then there was a blessed, short-lived silence until he spoke again.

“(Y/n), I feel bad.” He said. 

_Please don’t throw up, please don’t throw up,_ But you knew better than to say it out loud. You’d gotten in trouble for mumbling it before. 

“Why do I feel bad? Imma… Imma demon for heaven’s sake. I mean- hell’s- ah who gives a damn. I shouldn’t feel so bad.” His words were starting to slur together, but they wouldn’t have made sense anyway.

“It’s okay, we’re going home. You’re going to be fine.” You said.

“But _Aziraphale._ I mean- Angel. Mr. Fell. Him.” He waved his arms around as if he wasn’t really sure what they were there for.

“Aziraphale?” You asked.

“Nothin’.” He said. “Forget I said that.”

Your vision went hazy for a second, and you shook yourself. What were you talking about again?

You turned into your driveway- Anthony’s flat was on the other side of town, and no way were you sitting in the stuffy car any longer with him and that awful alcohol stench. You swung your legs out the door and went to help him out of the car. He stumbled into you, barely able to stand straight.

“Why do I feel so bad? I think I hurt his feelings...” He asked. Right. That’s what he was going on about. 

You opened the door, fumbling with your keys a little bit. “You feel bad because you’re a nice person. And-”

Suddenly the world was a blur, and you were slammed against the wall by your collar. Every horrible memory you avoided like the plague suddenly came rushing back. 

“Don’t. Call me that. _Nice.”_ He spat the word like saying it left a bad taste in his mouth.

You didn’t have it in you to respond. Your chest was closing in on you. Air wouldn’t come, and when it did, it smelled of whiskey. Your eyes were watering, your heart was pounding like thunder in your ears, your brain couldn’t process what it should do fast enough to actually do it. 

“(Y/n)?” 

You would have given anything to speak, even just to beg him at this point to let you go, please don’t hurt me, please, Anthony, _please._

But nothing came out. Instead you stared like a deer in headlights, stammering and gasping.

Suddenly you were dropped, and your knees were too shaky to catch you. 

“S-sorry,” You choked. Tears that had been threatening to fall “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it-”

Anthony stared at you for a second, baffled. You could feel his eyes on you.

After a moment, he kneeled down, and you scrambled back against the wall, trying to maintain a little composure, and failing miserably.

“(Y/n).” He said softly. You glanced up at him, and he didn’t look drunk anymore. At all.

“I’m- I’m sorry-” You stammered, voice shaking. “Please don’t- don’t hurt me,”

He held his hands up, palm out, to show that he wasn’t a threat. “I won’t hurt you. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He promised. 

You were baffled. It was like he’d sobered up in a span of five minutes. 

“Anthony, I-”

“Shh. You need to breathe, okay?” He said. “Look at me. Breathe.”

You tried to obey, but your body was having a hard time following instructions when your heart was still beating out of your chest.

“Can I touch you?” He asked.

He seemed completely normal. He didn’t even smell like whiskey anymore. Still, you were reeling. You offered one shaky hand, not comfortable enough to offer anything else, and he ever so gently slipped your smaller hand into his own, squeezing it to show he was there.

“I’m so sorry, I was being stupid.” He said. “I shouldn’t get that drunk. But…” He ducked down to try to catch your eye. “Do you really think I would hurt you?”

“No, no! I… I don’t know.” You trailed off, still catching your breath. “I’ve had- I’ve had experiences.”

“Shit. I’m so sorry. Dammit, I’m so sorry, (Y/n). I’m an idiot.” He said, sounding genuinely remorseful. He squeezed your hand again, and in an instant, your breathing evened out, and your body calmed itself down, heart rate returning to almost normal, and air coming easily, although your hands and legs were still shaking profusely, you were strangely relaxed.

“It’s okay.” You said. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me, it’s just… hard to get stuff out of your head once it’s there.”

“I know. Come on. It’s late, I’ll help you up the stairs.” He offered his other hand, and you wrapped an arm around his shoulders. It was a bit of a weird thing for him to offer, to walk you up your own stairs to your own bedroom, but your legs were shaking so badly that they probably wouldn’t have held up the whole way.

“Anthony,” You said. “How did you suddenly get sober?”

He glanced at you behind his sunglasses, and you felt it more than saw it. “Sobering situation, I guess.” 

You shook your head. “I’m sorry. I’m such an idiot. My brain-”

“Shut up.” He said with no venom. “It was my fault. I overreacted. I hurt you.” He added in a murmur.

“You didn’t hurt me.” You said.

He brushed a hand across your temple. “I scared you.”

He escorted you up to your room, and then left you to your privacy. He said he was well enough to drive home, but you insisted he stay the night, and wait until morning. He didn’t argue, except for a mumble about making you uncomfortable.

Before you fell asleep, he knocked on your bedroom door.

“(Y/n)? I wanted to apologize.”

“Again?” You sat up, squinting against the light from the hallway.

“I forgot how fragile humans are for a minute. And I should have been paying attention to how you felt.” Something about this made him seem like a small child who was told how to apologize to his friend, but it was amusing. 

“Thank you, Anthony. I appreciate the apology. We’re okay.” You said.

“Are you sure? I’m not making you upset or anything? You still want me around?” 

“Of course I do.” You were already halfway asleep. “Believe me, you’re not the first person I’ve continued to love with alcoholic tendencies. Good night.” You said sweetly, and with that, you were out like a light, but you’d thrown Crowley for a loop with what you’d said in your sleepy haze:

_Love._


End file.
